Broken Down
by Djinn
Summary: [Shounen ai - m/m warning Yamato x Jyou] The Digimon02 ending disturbed me enough to feverishly cook up several ways to get rid of Jyou's wife, whoever she is. -_- ...When his wife decides to leave him, Jyou is confronted with a secret he'd buried for a l


Broken Down

Though I really don't have the time to do this, I couldn't resist. If you've watched the Digimon02 ending, you'll know exactly what happened. I cannot remember when I have been so disturbed and _saddened _and _wrecked_ by a piece of news since that time where someone said that Crawford was dead [a totally unsubstantiated rumour, it turns out. -_- Thank goodness.]. Oh. And last night when I found that Mayday was disbanding [for two years only, they said, but you never know. *whimper*]. This fic is just one of several alternatives I've considered so far. ^_^; It's just a vignette really, written in a lecture period when it occurred to me that 'Rest Stop' by Matchbox 20 made a really good songfic. I do apologise if it's terrible, it's awfully hacked. ^_^;;

From 3rd person view, but Jyou's angle. I have no idea what are the names of his wife and kid. If anyone knew, it'd be nice to drop me a note. ^_^; Sorry for the fuss! This fic operates on the assumption that he used to be with Yamato…*grin*

Broken Down 

by Djinn

_Just three miles from the rest stop_

_And she slams on the brakes_

_She said I tried to be but I'm not_

_And could you please collect your things_

_I don't wanna be cold_

_I don't wanna be cruel_

But I gotta find more 

_Than what's happening with you_

If you'd - open up the door 

It was inevitable of course. He should have anticipated this, considering his track record. But it'd been so many years, and he'd thought that perhaps…it was all over.

But things caught up. They always did.

A pity, really. It'd taken time, but he'd grown to like her. _Really_ like her. Almost, in fact, to love her. Almost. Enough to pretend late into the nights, enough to pretend for so long. Enough, almost, to pretend to himself.

Almost.

And now she was telling him that she had never really _loved_ him, she just wanted to be, for once in her life, _safe_, _stable_, a condition that had lasted for far too long, that she didn't actually want as much as she thought she had so many years ago, when nothing in her life was stable.

It hurt, of course. It distressed him. An old betrayal leaked out of his secret heart, stinging like an acid burn. It felt almost like…that night he would not name.

Almost.

Not that he'd ever thought she loved him. It would have been too naïve to assume that she would love him anymore than he loved her. Nevertheless, he had never expected that she would actually do this, actually want to end it, years of marriage notwithstanding…their son, standing there with fear in his eyes, notwithstanding…

He'd never expected that she would, actually, get bored of him.

Not like this.

But she was, and she was telling him that she had never really loved him, and she wanted her own life now, wanted excitement, not this sterile stability, wanted an excitement that he could never – would never, at any rate – give her. That she wanted to, needed to, know more than him, he was not enough.

He tried to soothe her, but she cut off his words before they could fall, then chided him for that – he could not even speak against her, and she'd had enough of this, all of this…and besides.

"I went to do some research on your past." Her voice had changed, all of a sudden turning guarded. "I couldn't believe that anyone could be so…clean. I found something rather…startling."

For the first time, he felt fear spark his heart.

"There was a man."

Alarm lit his body, a desperate refusal rose in his throat like bile. He'd sealed it, sealed it away. He would not give that day a name. He would not name his past, his phantom…his dream…his…l… He would not say – would not think it. It was over now. He refused it. It was hopeless now. …It'd refused him.

But he was not the one to decide, whether or not there was a name.

_She said - while you were sleeping_

_I was listening to the radio_

_And wondering what you're dreaming when_

_It came to mind that I didn't care_

_So I thought - hell if it's over_

_I had better end it quick_

_Or I could lose my nerve_

_Are you listening - can you hear me_

_Have you forgotten_

"Yamato. Ishida Yamato."

The word fell like an icicle through his heart.

There was something to be said for a man, who, years after he'd left, still affected him so with the sound of his name alone. It blinded him, not so that he could see nothing, he simply could not see. It stilled his tongue, leaving him mute, or dumb, as it were. The endings of his nerves were on fire – his nerves were on fire, the flames warring with the ice that numbed his heart and the cold sea in his brain, and really, the only thing that made sense was the pain that lanced his heart, his head, his limbs, down to the very tips of his fingers and toes. The pain, simply, that was everywhere at once, whence it had come from nowhere, all at once.

If she had spoken, he would not have known. He could not hear any more than he could speak or see. He was fortunate that she chose silence, till some semblance of senses was returned to him. Thus it was that, when his vision finally focused, it was upon her expression of deep dismay.

"I had hoped that it was merely a rumour." Her voice was unsteady, nevertheless, sure. "But I can see that it's true."

He tried to speak, to protest, found he could not, much less lie. It _was_ true. It was all true.

And even after all this time, he could not find it in himself to be ashamed.

"I'm taking him with me," she reached out, pulled the child to her side, "Expect a letter from my lawyer within a week."

He tried to move, to speak, to stay her, and his child. But he could not. Could not move, could barely think.

…He was a good boy. Quiet, mostly scared, but with a depth inside. He saw himself in his child, who was so afraid of even his mother, fiery as she were…himself, so long ago in a strange land, hopelessly infatuated with eyes of blue and hair of brilliant gold…

It all came back to _him_.

The boy stared, yearned, pleaded with the dark blue eyes he'd inherited. But he did not speak any more than his father could. He was too alike him to not know better.

Then she left…and he was gone.

There was no goodbye. He was alone. He had failed his erstwhile wife. He had failed his child. He had failed…his…

_Just three miles from the rest stop_

_And my mouth's too dry to rage_

The light was shining from the radio I could barely see her face 

_But she knew all the words that I never had said_

_She knew the crumpled-up promise of this_

_Broken down man - and as I opened up the door_

And still he could not move. Until his legs trembled, buckled, and he was on his knees, sprawled, the floor so close.

Then the tears came.

The tears he hadn't cried since the night _he_'d left, the tears he'd tried to dry when he'd met a blazing girl, that he'd refused the night he was proposed _to_, that he'd hidden, all too well, on his wedding night, where, for the first time in his life, he'd copulated as a man, and found that, while he didn't like it, he could learn to live a lie, if only to fool himself.

They came now, seeping out reluctantly at first, then faster and faster, until he was weeping, sobbing, the broken cries echoing hollowly around the empty room. Till he could not stop, no matter what he tried, how hard he tried.

And still they came, as his heart beat out what he'd denied, refused, buried for the past so many years of his lie.

_Yamato. Yamato. Yamato._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Nothing had ever really changed, not since the day he'd left, and the old familiar betrayal he'd locked away with the tears returned with them, coursing through his veins, his blood, betrayal and grief and the terrible pain, rushing through his body with their song of silent death.

His almost love and the love of his life, and his life from almost-love…lost.

Nothing had changed. He was alone, again, his heart on the floor, in his mind, all over him in a nausea of despair.

…And he would not know which he wept for, except for the name pounding in the heart in his head.

And it was all the same.

…The same.

_I lost you. I lost you. I lost you._

_ _

_She said - while you were sleeping_

_I was listening to the radio_

And wondering what you're dreaming when 

_It came to mind that I didn't care_

_So I thought - hell if it's over_

_I had better end it quick_

_Or I could lose my nerve_

Are you listening - can you hear me 

_Have you…forgotten…_

_ _

END 

[Rest Stop is ©Matchbox 20, and a damned good song it is.] Ah well. It made _me_ feel better about the whole ending affair, at any rate. I'm truly sorry if you didn't like this. ^_^;; Now to get back to my four essays and revision for the Economics test on Monday…


End file.
